


red bull and spite

by bigender dean winchester (homosexualitie)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (kind of? it's not a specific episode), Gen, Minor Injuries, Missing Scene, Psychic Abilities, Season/Series 02, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:36:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28970703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homosexualitie/pseuds/bigender%20dean%20winchester
Summary: “Sam,” Dean says quietly. “I know you’re awake.” They both know each other too well, Sam thinks. He can tell what Dean’s thinking by the set of his jaw, and Dean always knows exactly how Sam’s feeling, though Sam isn’t quite sure how.---a little thing exploring what happens between hunts. the winchesters can't be action heroes 24/7
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	red bull and spite

Dean’s cleaning up the crime scene, wiping off prints and cleaning blood off his machete with a cloth, when he stands up, listening for something. Sam watches as he tenses up, looks out towards the road.  _ Cops _ , Sam thinks. 

“Cops,” Dean says. 

They get the hell out of the barn, Dean throwing his machete in the backseat and starting the car as Sam limps out and into the passenger seat. 

They’re speeding away from the crime scene when Sam realizes that he’s been stabbed. He puts a hand on his stomach and it comes away red. The pain sets in as the adrenaline fades, and Sam clenches his jaw. It’s nothing too bad, but it still hurts like hell. 

“Dean,” he says.

Dean doesn’t look over. “What?”

Sam clears his throat. Dean looks over, exasperated, but when he sees that Sam’s bleeding, he pulls the car over on the side of the road, reaches over into the back seat to get the first aid kit. “Keep pressure on it,” he instructs Sam. 

Sam obeys, pushes down hard on the wound. Dean pulls out the bandages and the rubbing alcohol from the kit, and realizes that he can’t reach Sam. He gets out of the car, goes over to Sam’s side and opens the door. “Get up,” he says, “I’m not pouring alcohol all over my car.”

Sam hates him. Sam hates that the car gets more concern than his fucking stab wound. All the same, Dean helps him stand up, and pours the alcohol over Sam’s wound. Sam hisses in pain.

Dean laughs. “You’re such a baby,” he says.

Sam scoffs. He’s not a baby, he just got  _ stabbed _ . But Dean knows that. He’s making conversation, trying to piss Sam off so he doesn’t think about the gaping stab wound he’s got. It’s stupid, really, how close Sam came to death. He didn’t even notice he was bleeding until he put his hand down. He could have bled out without even knowing. 

Dean finishes bandaging the wound and steps back, looking proud of himself. “Not too bad, huh?” he asks, and claps Sam on the shoulder. 

Sam sighs. he’s not in the mood for Dean’s antics, not tonight. “Let’s just get back to the motel.”

Dean gets back in the car. Sam follows suit. “We’re not going to the motel,” he says. “Sam, we just left a crime scene. You probably left prints there. We’ve gotta get out of town.”

_ Shit _ . Sam had left all of his clothes at the motel, and the stuff he’s wearing is fucking  _ covered _ in blood. He puts his head in his hands. “Just once,” he says, “I’d like to finish a hunt without running from the cops.” He’s mostly joking— they’ve had plenty of peaceful hunts, but lately they’ve had the cops on their ass more often than not. 

But Dean laughs anyway, gets the car back onto the road and speeds up. “Where’s the fun in that?” he asks, and laughs again, throwing his head back. Sam can’t help but laugh too, although that’s more the adrenaline comedown than anything else. There’s a sharp pain in his stomach, but he keeps laughing. 

They drive south, speeding down the interstate. Dean turns the music up, loud enough that Sam can barely hear himself think over the sound of Metallica. When they cross the state line Dean looks over at him.

“Are you alright?” he asks, shouting over the music.

Sam presses down on the wound, checks the bandage. The bleeding seems to have stopped, for the most part. “Yeah,” he replies. 

Dean barely reacts, just nods and says “good,” like he doesn’t even care. Sam glares at him, but he’s looking at the road and doesn’t notice. 

-

They check into a motel in a town called New Hampton. the owner looks them both over and, clearly intimidated, doesn’t make small talk, just books them a room and takes Dean’s credit card with barely a word. 

Sam is still sure to thank him, if only because he thinks it’s the right thing to do. They stumble into the room and Dean throws his duffel bag on the bed closest to the door. “Get some sleep, Sammy,” he says, “we’re driving again tomorrow.” 

Sam throws himself on the bed and groans. “This sucks.”

It  _ does _ suck, to be fair. Sam doesn’t even mind that he got stabbed, he just wishes that vampires weren’t so hard to kill. They’ve only come across a few nests, but every once in a while they’ll find an individual vampire causing trouble. The problem is that killing vampires leaves behind a hell of a crime scene— beheadings always get cops excited, and Sam and Dean have to be extra careful not to leave a trail, and always end up laying low for a few weeks afterwards. 

Besides, vampires always look far too human for Sam’s taste, and he hates killing something that looks like a person. For all intents and purposes, vampires  _ are _ human. It doesn’t feel right, killing them. At least the regular ghosts and ghouls don’t bleed when you hit them, and they dissolve after being shot through with rock salt. 

It’s unsettling, to cut the head off of someone who eats and breathes, just the same as them. It makes Sam sick sometimes, the lives he and Dean have ruined. Dean doesn’t seem to feel the same, and he normally takes the lead on these cases, beheading the vamps and cleaning out the nest. 

They were careless this time, and Sam thinks privately that he might have left prints at the scene, considering how quickly they dipped after Dean heard the sirens. 

Dean sits down on his bed, sighs loudly. Sam sighs louder, closes his eyes. He can hear Dean humming something under his breath, but it’s not loud enough to make it out. Eventually Sam feels sleep come over him.

-

Sam wakes up late, late enough that the sun is streaming in through the window. Dean is already awake, drinking a red bull at the table. When he sees Sam sit up, he waves him over. 

“You gotta change those bandages,” Dean says, and tosses him the first aid kit. “And, dude, you need a shower.”

Sam realizes he must look pretty bad, if Dean is remarking on how much he needs a shower. When he looks at himself in the mirror, he wonders how the motel owner didn’t call the cops on them. His face is splattered with vampire blood, and there’s a large bruise forming on his jaw where he fell into the wall. Dean was at least able to clean the blood off  _ his _ face, he didn’t think to tell Sam that he was covered in blood? 

Sam sighs and gets in the shower. He watches as the blood washes off his face and pools in the drain. It goes down slowly, and he looks at his wound. It’s still open, though the bleeding has stopped. 

When he gets out of the shower, Sam dresses the wound first, wincing at the feeling. Dean pounds on the door. “Are you blow drying your hair in there? Come on, we gotta get out of town!”

Sam rolls his eyes. “I’m not blow drying my hair.” 

Dean kicks the door. “Alright, then hurry it up, okay? I want to be out of the state by eleven.” His voice is sharp, but he adds, in a softer voice, “and be careful with that stab wound, okay?”

Sam  _ is  _ careful with the stab wound, although he does grumble under his breath about Dean telling him what to do. 

They head out of town as soon as Sam’s dressed. Dean looks a little worse for wear, and Sam remembers that he got beat up by the vampire just as much as Sam— she had thrown Dean against a wall and hit him a few times before Sam attracted her attention. 

“You hungry?” Dean says, gesturing to a convenience store. Sam hasn’t eaten since breakfast yesterday, so he says yes. 

Dean stays near the counter, hitting on the cashier, while Sam walks through the aisles, taking whatever he can fit in his pockets. Dean meets his eyes and grins. Sam rolls his eyes. 

Dean pays for a pack of cigarettes and they leave. When they get back to the car, Sam pulls out a few energy bars and a bottle of water. 

“You’re such a health nut,” Dean scoffs. “and an asshole. You didn’t get  _ anything _ for me?” 

Sam laughs and hands him a bag of potato chips. 

“Bullshit,” Dean says. Sam shrugs, feigning innocence. 

“Come on,” Sam urges. “We’ve gotta get out of town, right?” Dean shoves him, but he’s clearly exhausted, cause he barely moves Sam. 

Dean slams the door and starts the car. Sam gets in the passengers seat, leans the seat back. he wants to sleep for at least a little, just for half of the drive. Dean turns the music down imperceptibly, but even with his eyes closed, Sam can tell. Dean sings along, softly, and Sam turns his head away, leans on the window. 

-

Sam sleeps fitfully, but at least he sleeps. When he wakes up they’re in Illinois, although he isn’t sure how he knows that. Dean is silent, the music low. He’s abandoned the cassettes and is fiddling with the radio, trying to tune it. It seems like it’s stuck between two channels, one playing gospel music, another playing talk radio. The effect is strange, the buzzy sound of an angry man shouting about local sports, cut in with a band singing about how Jesus loves us all. 

“Sam,” Dean says quietly. “I know you’re awake.” They both know each other too well, Sam thinks. He can tell what Dean’s thinking by the set of his jaw, and Dean always knows exactly how Sam’s feeling, though Sam isn’t quite sure  _ how _ .

Sam opens his eyes. “What?”

“I need you to look at the map,” Dean says. “We’re headed to a town in West Virginia. Bridgeport. Bobby called, sent us some info.”

Sam rubs at his face. he’s barely awake, it’s a lot to take in. “What’s the case?”

“Few mysterious deaths,” Dean says. “Cops are stumped, course they are.”

Sam doesn’t say anything. He’s still waking up, and he feels stiff, like he’s been asleep for hours. 

“How long was I out?” he asks. 

“Four hours or so,” Dean replies. “Didn’t want to wake you, you looked so peaceful.”

Sam looks over at him. he’s looking out at the road, eyes soft. Sam wonders if he’s gotten any sleep at all. Dean’s a careful driver, and he can last days without sleeping, but Sam would rather him be at the top of his game than fall asleep in the middle of a hunt. It’s only happened once, but Sam remembers it clearly, the panic that set in when he realized that Dean was passed out and couldn’t save him. 

“Why don’t you let me drive for a little,” Sam suggests, keeping his voice even. Dean looks over, incredulous. 

“No fucking way,” he says. “Dude, you  _ know  _ i’m a better driver. You’d probably fuck up my car.”

“ _ You’re _ gonna fuck up your car if you fall asleep at the wheel,” Sam snaps. 

Dean laughs. “Alright,” he concedes. “Give me a minute, I’ll pull over.”

He pulls over and gets out of the drivers seat, waits for Sam to get in. Sam does, and he starts driving. He knows that he’s a worse driver than Dean, and normally Dean loves bothering him about it. But Dean doesn’t nag him today, just leans back in his seat and closes his eyes. 

Dean’s been running himself ragged since Dad died. He’s barely sleeping, running on red bull and spite. When he does sleep, it’s fitful, like he’s having nightmares. But in the passengers seat, he looks peaceful, half asleep and silent. Sam turns the radio down and keeps driving, his eyes trained on the empty road. 


End file.
